Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1887-11-05

They were my playmates when child.
And rocked me in their arms so wild
Still they looked at me, and smiled
AS i'll were Il boy.
-Longelotc: The Prelude
Many, many years ago. in a hamlet,
! there stood an old oak of majestic beauty.
In winter the wind would moan and howl
through its bare boughs, but in spring it
would don its bright green robes. 1t
could rear itself proudly or speak words of
comfort to the traveller who might seek its
shade after his long days journey-it
| would sigh for his misfortune and rustic
words of sympathy to him. A wonderful
curiosity was that old oak, with its long
dropping boughs and alluring destinations
The poet sang of it, as he allowed his low
ing eye to wander up its hight in admira-
ton of its symmetry; the common folk
loved it; it was the schoolboy's delight
| and the lovers retreat. Not far distant
from the noble tree gurgled stream; its
| silvery murmur was scarcely broken save
by the loud notes of the whippoorwill or
the cricket's measured chirp. Soon came
spring-beautiful spring with her fragrant
breath and warm sunshine. The air was
redolent with the aroma of flowers, the
| swallows twittered in the balmy sunshine,
and all nature seemed to rejoice in unison.
All how clearly the great tree
was outlined against the rich tints
of the blue expanse never before
had it appeared so wonderfully beautiful !
By and by wandered gentle boy into the
forest, where grew the huge oak and seemed
to cleaye the sky in its ambitious gran
deur The youth approached the tree,
and reclned beneath its shade. 1t whis-
| pered welcome and rustled its leaves for
very joy. Beautiful tree" murmured the
boy, softly, wilt thou be my friend ?'
The oak waved its branches vociferously.
81 knew thou wouldst," he said again.
And many years afterwards he came to
the beautiful tree, whose sweeping boughs
would fan his heated temples. Oh, what
| days were those but they passed away all
too soon. Time rolled on its ceaseless
| fight years passed, but yet the tree stood
grandly majestic in its everlasting beauty.
The stream flowed on, and the forests
changed as the seasons rolled. But when
| at length another summer came dancing
DER the hills, she brought with her new
| joys and boundless happiness. Her light
| lightly; the birds sang from their boughs
overhead, and their tiny Threats seemed
breaking with bursts of melody; the gentle
breezes played among the trees but beau
tiful, beautiful beyond all expression, the
noble oak looked calmly down upon its
neighbors, as if enjoying his supremacy
over all other trees of the forest. Seasons
had come and gone, but where was the
youth who wandered into the forest on
that memorable spring day so long ago e?
The tree still lifted its leaN crown into
the air; the stream, as of old, babbled DER
the rocks, but the boy came not. At
length the youth-now man-iovously
| returned in summer to his forest home.
He peered anxiously around him. The
squirrels bounded from tree to tree; the
little birds sang, and the flowers smiled
once again. but not for one or
all of these was the man
seeking, but for the grand old tree that
had sheltered him in childhood. But sud-
denly his face lighted up with smile, for
through the dense foliage he thought he
saw the waving branches of his favorite
oak. Quickly he pushed aside the heavy
shrubbery, and there before him stood the
grand old monarch never before quite SO
beautiful as 1t now appeared to him.
But now he pressed onward and stood
beneath the great leafy eoverlet. All,
what happiness was his! Was that in
deed his oak, this great Enthusiastically
gnarled tree? Suddenly the boughs whis-
pered among themselves; then all at once
came a wild flutter of the leaves and
boughs as they seemed to whisper gleefulIy
Hast thou at length come p Dav after
day the man would wander into the forest
as in a dream. How joyous and happy
was that summer. But all things have a
termination, and as we part from child
hood and manhood forever, so did the man
leave the home of his youth. 1t was verg-
ing unto autumn and the leaves were ST
lently dropping and falling when he re-
turned once again. The leaves changed
to golden, and Nature turned the beauty
and glory of summer to barrenness and
gloom-but no, not all gloom, for faint
hope still dwelt in the mans breast. The
oak, too. quietly changed color Stripped
Of its beauty, somber and gloomy as it now
appeared, its calmly benign countenance
bespoke nature not to be broken 4
| bowed man, with hair sprinkled with gray,
sad and thoughtful, stood beneath the
tree on an autumn day, dreaming
of days gone by The leaves fell
softly and silently around him and
the stream rippled DER the shining pebbles.
A single leaf was waited to the ground {;
he reached for it and pressed it fondly to
his heart. "What hast thou not been to
me, my tree" he said, as his eyes dimmed
with tears; "what would my life have
been without thee, my comfort and my
happiness ~ Did the tree speak or did
his ears deceive him, as he darted forward
to listen? No, it was only the wild rust
ling Of the leaves, as sudden blast blew
them to the ground. And when the au-
tumn ebbed away into silence another
winter dawned. All what beauty then
pervaded the scene! Mark how the leaves
grow heavy beneath the glittering weight
the sparkling fringes of frost, and the pure
ice-crusts. King Winter calls everything
his own; the lake, the sky, the earth
everything, everything is fettered by the
stern chains of old winter. But where is
the man who frequents the forest-the
youth, the man, the father, the gray-haired
grand-sire? Alas, we see him not And
while we marvel, To- darkness comes on,
and the dim, uncertain shades of night
settle down. The lowering cloud, that
foretold the coming storm, burst at length
with Undesirable fury, and its fearful
thunder, peal upon peal, echoed and re-
echoed through the recesses of the forest.
The lightning flashed and the thunder
bolts crashed through the heavens. The
fierce winds smote the aged oak it did not
fall, but defied the wrath of the storm
grandly and nohly, as an aged man
yet in the winter of his life
strives against the years that too
rapidly advance upon him. While the
fearful sounds reverberate from mountain
to mountain, from buttress to tower, and
the rain wildly descends, follow me into
home where the stern rigor of winter can
not penetrate. An aged man is upon his
death-bed. A pale, haggard, but patient
face is clearly defined against snow-white
pillow. The life of ore of Gods noblest
creatures is slowly ebbing away. All is
silent, save the stihed sobs of the gatherers
at his bedside, and the roar of the deyour-
ing elements as they beat against the cabin
roof. The mourners near the dying man
look at one another, while scalding tears
silently course down their cheeks as they
whisper, Lo, he is dyingp' Suddenly the
old man gathers his remaining strength.
Weep not, my friends he says; q dry
thy tears while |, as Robin Hood of old,
designate my last resting place. Beneath
x-o,, rt,rrcrad ooh ! IL.